Two Glasses on the Table
by Burenda
Summary: A promise somehow became Kunsel's routine...
1. Two Glasses on the Table

Author Note: This story actually has two authors. I wrote this first part, intending it as a short standalone piece that I'm not sure I would have even posted to FFN, but then the person I wrote it for wrote a what-if continuation. She has given me permission to post her part as well, so many thanks to Jodie, my partner in crime.

 **Two Glasses on the Table**

 _By Burenda_

"So, what'll it be?"

The voice was familiar, the same barmaid from the day before. Kunsel had noticed that she'd started making a point of picking his table when he came in. Smiling, he met her eyes - blue, but not blue enough. More like the ocean instead of the sky.

She never flinched, just smiling right back. Maybe she was used to serving men with SOLDIER eyes.

"I think you know," he answered, a rueful acknowledgement that he'd noticed the routine that he was making, and that she'd become part of it somehow.

She nodded, not bothering to deny her memory. "It'll just take a minute," she said, then stepped away, neatly dodging a drunk's wandering hand as she headed over to deliver the order. True to her word, she was back soon after that with two glasses balanced on her tray. Condensation beaded down the sides, making the amber liquid seem to sparkle in the light.

"Two of the usual," the woman stated lightly, setting them both on the table. "Think your friend will show up today?"

"He better," Kunsel joked, flashing the barmaid a grin he didn't really feel. He reached for his glass and raised it to make his point. "This is his favorite. He's going to get jealous if he misses out on it."

"I'll make sure to scold him when I see him, then." The woman's answering grin was impish. "He's missed a lot of them already, hasn't he?"

"Yeah..." Kunsel's smile faded, his eyes dropping to the glass next to his hand. "Yeah, he has. He's gonna owe me for that, big time."

Sensing his mood, the woman took her cue to slip away. No one worked in a bar for long without learning when a customer wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. Even when he stood up, one glass on the table empty, one still sitting full, she didn't say anything while he paid his tab.

But she was part of his routine, so when he started to walk away...

"Sir, your friend's drink..."

He turned, and he was smiling again, even past the ache in his throat.

"It's okay." He lifted a hand to wave. "I'm still waiting for him."


	2. One Glass on the Table

Author note: This part is written entirely by Jodie. All my thanks go to her for writing this half and allowing me to post it here.

 **One Glass on the Table**

 _By Jodie_

Another long evening already. The barmaid sighed as she glanced over at the full glass resting only a few tables down. No one bothered it although an unsteady hand almost knocked it over. But still, there it remained. She debated over it one last time before someone further down the way hailed for her attention in a way that made her brows furrow. Pivoting, she straightened and followed the voice deeper into the bar.

Despite her attention on her patrons as she politely served up another drink for them, the clink of glasses and hearty laughter dimmed but didn't entirely drown out the familiar swing of the door nor the sign that creaked outside. Boots thudded dully against the old grain before the soft protest of a seat being slid out signaled the approach of yet another customer.

Topping off the last beer, she glanced back and paused. But then she made her way over to the man who just found his seat. From the back, he looked old. Hunched over the table like he'd had way too many long days. She stood with a hand placed lightly on the marred wood to make her presence known and a napkin dropped in front of him before she inquired.

"So, what can I get ya?"

The man started one moment. Looked up at her the next. And she quickly found herself reassessing his age. Much younger than she thought. Younger and with eyes that carried that familiar somber glow. She smiled, one of trained disarmament and he returned it with one of his own that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Just a Hero Cocktail, thanks."

She started to turn, automatic, before she stopped halfway. Her eyes met his again before they fell on the full glass in front of him. The barmaid nodded to it, her smile growing. Fond.

"I think that's yours."

The man blinked owlishly at her. His eyes fell on the glass resting between the two seats as if offered over. The condensation had long since pooled on the air-dried napkin. And as he reached over to slide the drink in front of him with a creased brow, he could feel it was warm. He sniffed it curiously. Then, the glow in his eyes seemed to be brighter than before. Almost glossy. His lips curled.

"Want me to ice it?"

"No... Thanks. I'm good." There was a swell in the man's voice. One that told her more than enough. She nodded in understanding. Glimpsed out of the corner of her eye as she caught someone trying to wave her down. But she didn't move yet, mouth opening instead. Tone almost teasing.

"That makes it the sixty-sixth glass you owe him," she chided. The man paused just as he was about to take a sip. He ran a hand through his shaggy, black hair to scratch his neck.

"First, letters. Now, this. Wonder when I'll finally catch a break." Despite the complaint, his voice held hoarse warmth. He set the glass down. Then reached out a hand her way, pointing to the collar of her shirt. "Can I borrow that?"

The barmaid glanced down at her pen and didn't hesitate to unclip it shortly after. She offered it to him and he took it with an appreciative nod. His pen strokes were short, quick, and choppy on the napkin she had provided, but he eventually seemed satisfied. Rather than giving back just her pen, the napkin went with. A handful of gil he'd collected out of his pocket weighed down his thin, makeshift note.

"Next time he's in town..." He started, but he didn't get a chance to finish as he felt her hand lightly squeeze his open palm.

"I'll let him know." The unsaid promise hung in the air as she replaced the pen on her collar first. Then bundled the gil in the napkin, carefully cradling it into the palm of her other hand. With a knowing smile, she dismissed herself much to the satisfaction of hollering, impatient patrons.

He watched her if only for a moment more before he raised his glass. High one moment. Then to his lips the next. The taste left something to be desired, lukewarm and mildly flat.

Yet, it was the best drink he'd had in ages.

 _-Fin-_


End file.
